


El Beso de La Parca

by ClareGuilty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Grim Reaper - Freeform, Mariachi Reaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClareGuilty/pseuds/ClareGuilty
Summary: You stumble upon a strange musician in the gardens. Will you stay and listen to his song?
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 81





	El Beso de La Parca

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very very old fic I wrote that I still love dearly and wanted to get moved over here

Cold water pooled over the sides of your cupped palms and ran down your arms as you brought your hands to your lips. The warmth of the sun lay gentle on the skin of your shoulders in the golden afternoon light. You sat back on the cool stone of the fountain, listening to the steady splashes of the water. The sound washed over you. One of your hands fell into the pool, fingers tracing idle patterns in the clear, rippling water. This was peace.

An unfamiliar sound caught your ear, and you glanced up in curiosity. Soft plucked notes drifted from around the corner. Who was playing guitar? You slid off of the cool stone where you had been resting, quietly following the sweet melody that settled in the gardens. The song was entrancing, drawing you nearer to the source of the melancholy notes.

Peering around the corner, you searched for the mysterious musician. You saw him, sitting among the dahlias.

“ _La Parca,”_ you gasped softly.

The haunting musician appeared to be death himself. Dressed in an opulent black cloak and a black and silver sombrero that hid his face, a shadowy figure was hunched over the most gorgeous guitar you had ever seen. The instrument was painted to resemble a skull, beautiful and flowered on the body of the guitar. Smoky gloved fingers strummed the haunting melody that had drawn you to this part of the gardens.

The phantom-like appearance of the musician warned you to be wary. You had great respect for the dead, and you did not wish to meet your end by crossing the Reaper himself. As much as you wanted to turn away, return to the fountain and enjoy the wraith’s music from afar, you could not will yourself to move. The music was too beautiful.

“Come out, _Princesa_ ,” a dark and distant voice called. You knew the strange guitarist had seen you.

You took two tentative steps forward. Then two more. The brim of the Sombrero lifted, and the face of death was revealed to you. A white skull with dark eyes looked upon you with interest. You noticed the skull held the same markings as a _calavera_.

Lip trembling, you clasped your hands as if in prayer and dropped to your knees before the strange figure. Heavy footsteps resounded on the stone path, and you looked up to see the guitarist standing over you, hand extended. You placed your small hand in his large gloved palm and allowed yourself to be gently pulled to your feet.

“Come sit,” the same voice commanded gently, “Listen for a while.”

You did as you were told. Taking a seat among the dahlias and listening to the soft notes that drifted among the flowers. The sun fell low in the sky, sinking below the garden wall and bathing the both of you in shadow. The guitarist played on. You didn’t stir. As the moon rose above the terrace, the air began to turn cold. The dark musician noticed the slight tremble of your shoulders before you did.

You started as the garden fell silent. Warmth encompassed your shoulders as the Reaper wrapped his own coat around your shoulders.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“I believe you already know.” The skull mask responded.

“ _Eres la Parca?”_ Your voice was small.

“ _Si_ , something like that.”

You didn’t want to question further, didn’t want to put yourself in danger. The Reaper spoke next. “It is late. You should return home.”

“Are you going to play more?” You couldn’t stop the question. A low laugh bellowed from behind the Reaper’s mask.

“I will play until there is no one left to hear my song.” The Reaper lifted his coat from your shoulders. “Go home, _Princesa_ , and listen for my lullaby.”

You left the garden. And once you were safely in your bed, you heard the distant sound of the Reaper’s guitar drifting through your window.

The next day arrived, and you found yourself in the garden once again, sitting among the dahlias and humming the same lullaby that had carried you to sleep the night before. A guitar began to play along with your quiet voice, and you jumped to your feet. _La Parca_ was leaned against the wall, a stark contrast against the many blooming flowers. You smiled as he took a seat next to you.

“Wait here,” you ordered, dashing off to gather an armful of flowers. The Reaper watched you in silent amusement as you carefully selected each bloom. Only once you had gathered a pile of bright stems did you take your spot next to the Reaper. He said nothing, only began to play. The smoky precision of his fingers distracted you for a moment, as you watched him set the notes of his song to the wind, scattering them as seeds in the spring.

You turned to your own task. Carefully twining the stems of the flowers together as you listened to the Reaper’s songs.

“I’m finished,” You exclaimed after a short while, holding up the colorful wreath you had made.

“ _Es hermoso, Princesa_.”

“It’s for you.” You stood over the dark guitarist, gently placing the wreath over his sombrero. He did not move to stop you.

The Reaper chuckled as you looked upon your masterpiece with pride. “Why don’t you crown me properly?” He asked. You raised your eyebrows in question. What did he mean?

Delicately, you took the wreath from his sombrero, cradling it in your arms. To your surprise, the hat itself disappeared as if blown to dust by the wind. The skull mask disappeared as well.

You gazed upon the Reaper’s face. He looked like a man, dark eyes, strong jaw, groomed beard. His hair was long and fell to his shoulders. Yet, just as he was a man, you also saw the Reaper beneath. With every shift of the light or turn of his head, you could see a shadowy skull seemed to occupy the same space. When he was absolutely still, you could not even tell you were seeing the Reaper himself. But a shadow would change, or his jaw would tense, and you would see the sharp bones and many teeth of the Reaper’s true face.

Gently, tenderly, you placed your wreath upon his head, crowning the face of death with the bright, lively colors of fresh summer blooms. The Reaper smiled. You smiled back.

Your hand trailed to his face, knuckles brushing down his jaw.

“ _Es hermoso,”_ You whispered.

The Reaper stood. You stared up into his dark eyes as he cupped your face in his gloved hands. You wondered if his hands carried the same spectral skeleton as his face. Slowly, as if he was afraid, the Reaper leaned in, brushing his lips against yours.

This kiss felt like a spark. Your eyes widened, and you pulled away. Was this how it felt for the living to kiss the dead?

The Reaper stumbled backwards, afraid he had scared you. Afraid he had pushed too far. You deliberately stepped back into his space, wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him in so that you could kiss him properly. The Reaper softened in your embrace, his own arms circling you so that he could pull you in closer, envelop you.

That night, as you lay smiling in your bed, you listened to the sound of the Reapers lullaby, of _your_ lullaby, drifting through your window. Your lips still remembered the spark of the Reaper’s kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Did you know this fic has art?](https://nesyro.tumblr.com/post/181476729980/a-little-thing-i-whipped-up-from-clareguiltys)
> 
> [Tumblr](http://www.clareguilty.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/Clare_guilty)


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